


Endearment

by Fierceawakening



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: BDSM, Bloodplay, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Gore, Humiliation, M/M, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-19 06:14:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2377847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fierceawakening/pseuds/Fierceawakening
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I seem to be really getting into this "twisted fluff" idea lately. Megatron and Starscream do every violent, gory, explicit sexual thing ever. And then snuggle. Because violence is hot and snuggling is awesome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Endearment

**Author's Note:**

> Written for decepticonsensual's Reverse Storyfest and inspired by RP with weallscreamforstarscream.
> 
> Set in an AU where the Decepticons actually won at the end of S2 and rebuilt Cybertron with the Omega Lock. Should be easy to follow, but if not that’s the context.
> 
> As always, emergency exits are located at the top of your browser window in the form of an arrow and a little X.

Starscream stirred in his recharge, pressing his chest against Megatron’s frame. Probably for warmth. Megatron chuckled, wrapped an arm around Starscream, and drew him closer.

A strange moment of tenderness, perhaps. Megatron’s massive claws glowed bright with spilled energon. The gore shone an eldritch purple, tainted by the presence of dark energon — the blood of the Chaos Bringer himself.

Only two mechs Megatron knew had dark energon running through their fuel lines. One was Megatron himself. The other was the very mech recharging beside him.

Megatron looked down at his hand and chuckled. Starscream’s gore spattered his claws and fangs alike, and yet even in stasis he wanted only to get closer.

Starscream mewled, a high little sound. His optics flickered once. Megatron thought he might wake, but he slipped back into his slumber.

He needed it. His frame still bore the marks of hard use just before. Paint had scraped off his shins from too long on his knees, exposing the bright silver metal beneath.

Megatron grinned. He licked at the energon smearing his scarred lip plates and purred at its tang.

One of Starscream’s wings hung crooked from its mounts at his back. Both wings bore deep gouges where Megatron’s claws had torn them and dents where his fists and his grip had wrenched the thin metal. Energon dripped from the cuts and sparks winked from torn, exposed cabling.

And below that was Starscream’s valve, Megatron’s transfluid still leaking from it. Its cover hung half open, frozen in place. It too bore the marks of Megatron’s claws. He’d wrenched it aside with his hands, too eager to be patient.

And now Starscream nuzzled against him, his claws kneading the berth, scratching little channels in the metal. His cooling fans whispered in the silent room, and Megatron answered it with a purr of his own.

Starscream usually left after their trysts. He would would drag himself up from the berth or the floor, shaking from exertion or energon loss or overload or pain, and scuttle toward the door. After their trysts, his pride always returned.

And Megatron had shamed him more than usual.

The Decepticons had finally won their long war, finally rebuilt the home that war had ravaged.

Including the city Starscream ruled. Vos had been one of the first cities to fall.

Now Megatron’s princeling had his kingdom back. And it would never do to let it go to his head.

He’d hidden in Starscream’s very throne room at the top of the Winglord’s tower. As soon as Starscream had opened the doors and walked to his long-vacant seat, Megatron had shoved him to the floor and growled out the first of many reminders.

“Vos belongs to you,” he’d said. “But you belong to me.”

Every swipe of his claws and thrust of his spike had proven it. He’d dragged Starscream’s bloodied frame here. Starscream had hissed and spit the whole way, snarling curses, catching Megatron’s shins with his claws, biting deep with sharpened denta. Starscream wasn’t the only one who was bleeding now.

How many times had those claws curled around Megatron’s armor only to become a caress? How many times had Megatron stopped that biting mouth with a kiss? Megatron had lost count.

Nor could he remember, sated and spent now, just how many times his spike had driven into Starscream’s open valve.

He’d thought for sure Starscream would leave. Would gather up what scraps remained of his dignity and slink away spitting static.

But instead he’d stayed. Instead he huddled close.

Perhaps, after eons of conflict with the Decepticons’ enemies and Megatron alike, he’d finally decided where he belonged.

Megatron’s smile widened. He pressed against Starscream’s slender frame and offered more of his warmth.


End file.
